


A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action

by wickedtrue



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: Female Character In Command, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Gen, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:25:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedtrue/pseuds/wickedtrue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short conversation between Ripley and Vasquez.  "For what it's worth, I am sorry."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aspen (silveraspen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveraspen/gifts).



> When I saw your prompt, I cackled and just had to try to do something between Ripley and Vasquez. Two awesome characters that just don't get the proper screen time together in the film. I hope I managed to do them justice, and you enjoy it!

"Yo, Mama. You know how to shoot that?"

Ripley stopped mid-step and turned. She had been about to check on Newt after Hicks pressed a pulse rifle into her hands and walked her through the very rough basics on its use. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Vasquez repeated, all nonchalance. She shoved a multitool between her teeth to free up her hands and yanked another piece of paneling off the wall. "If you've got that at my back, I want to know you can use it, not take my head off."

Ripley pumped the grenade chamber. "I have the theory down."

Her mind slipped back to her private pod on the Weyland-Yutani High Earth Orbit Industry and Construction Platform (never home, never that tiny satellite apartment on Luna IV). How some nights, after a long day on the loading dock, she came back, sit down in the chair in front of her private terminal, and find herself staring at her daughter's data file hours later, her birth and death dates highlighted. The cigarette she automatically light every time she closed her front portal would burn down to the filter, entirely untouched. Instead of reporting this to her shrink, and getting her loader license pulled, she took to wearing a bandage around the base of her pointer finger and put a double password lock on her personal files.

"And I'm no one's mother."

"Could have fooled me." Vasquez tipped her head toward the main door to the corridor. "Come on. You need to taste the kick on that before you can use it."

"We should save ammo--" Ripley started, even as she followed Vasquez out into the corridor and to the right, toward sentry gun tripods just beyond the incomplete barricades.

"Three rounds." Vasquez dumped her equipment bag on the ground and pulled off her right shoulder plate. It was dented and pitted with acid burns, but Ripley could just make out the white, slanted script Be Afraid over a skull and crossbones. "Light armor ain't shit against acid." Vasquez propped the ruined piece of armor against a container and stepped back behind Ripley. "Aim for the center. Hold the rifle tight against your shoulder and stroke the trigger, don't squeeze or pull, for a single burst."

Ripley stared at her and didn't comply until Vasquez raised an eyebrow and just smirked. Ripley slammed the gun high against her shoulder, sighted down the the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. Three shots hit the back wall, one the container, and finally a slug went through the plate. Ripley rammed hard into the back wall from the recoil, deafened for a moment from the sound.

"Shit, man, shit!" Hudson sprinted down the hall.

Vasquez waved him off, punching him across the shoulder when Hudson didn't lower his weapon quickly enough for her liking. "Back to your post, no monsters here!" Ripley heard as the ringing in her ears finally stopped.

Then, she felt a smack across her hip. "Plant yourself or the same thing will happen again," Vasquez told her. "And aim slightly to the right next time. Can't correct your stance now, no time. At least you can hit the broad side of a barn."

Ripley slung the gun back over her shoulder and followed Vasquez to take a closer look at her makeshift target. She had taken out the 'B'.

"Be afraid?" she asked.

Vasquez's expression went blank. She took the shoulder piece back and stripped it from its hardness. Then she cracked the plate in half over her knee. "Mira wrote it," she muttered, and she shoved the harness back into her equipment bag.

"Mira? You mean Ferro, the pilot--"

"Yeah, the damn pilot." Vasquez stood up from her stoop sharply. "My friend, the pilot."

Ripley backed off and held up her hands in surrender. She watched Vasquez kick the sentry gun into place and slam the ammobox in the chamber. "I wasn't trying to--"

"You weren't trying nothing!" Vasquez dropped her weapon, letting it hang from her shoudler strap, and confronted Ripley. "You wanna say sorry? Sorry my whole team is gone? You wanna have some sisterly bond, about how, yeah, they're dead, we're alive, and we're gonna make it outta here? I don't have time for that shit right now! I've got shit to do! Don't confuse me saving my own ass for caring about yours!"

She kicked a plastic container full of salvaged parts and sent it flying across the room. Ripley pressed against the wall and watched the container sail by her face, hit the floor on the far side of the room, and dump its contents. The sound of metal hitting metal and the ping, ping of shards flying everywhere halted Vasquez's violent outburst and brought her back to herself. The marine ripped off her bandanna and roughly ran her fingers through her short hair, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes.

Ripley slowly pulled herself away from the wall. The only sound in the corridor was their combined heavy breathing. "Vasquez," she asked, quietly. When the other woman did not respond, she repeated it louder. "Vasquez."

Vasquez dropped her hands and ground out, "What?"

Ripley took a step closer, then another, never breaking eye contact. When they were at arm's length, she bent down and picked up the red bandana. She fingered it for a moment before looking up at Vasquez and trying again. "Are you frosty, Vasquez?"

"...Yeah," she finally drawled. "I'm fucking frosty." She took her bandana back and tied loosely around her neck before pushing it back in place across her forehead. "You?" she shot back.

Ripley let out a half laugh in surprise. "Honestly? I could use a cigarette."

Vasquez snorted. "Yeah, and four fucking bottles of tequila."

"When was the last time you slept?" Ripley repeated the same question Hicks had asked her just a short time ago.

"Eighteen hours ago." Vasquez lifted her chin. "Command keeps us grunts on 27-hour cycles. I'm here to the end."

"Right." Ripley picked up her pulse rifle and turned to head back up the corridor. "Right."

"You should listen to your own advice. Ma'am."

Ripley stopped and shook her head. She could almost hear the smart-ass grin Vasquez was wearing. Before she started walking again, she looked slightly over her shoulder. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."


End file.
